


Come Hell or High Water

by urfavehufflepuff



Series: First Time with a Merc. [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angry Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Good Slade Wilson, Stubborn Dick Grayson, Swearing, emotional hurt with very little comfort, small panic attack, trigger warning for alcohol, trigger warning for vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urfavehufflepuff/pseuds/urfavehufflepuff
Summary: It's been a bit too long since Slade has been bothered by the former Boy Wonder, and he decides it's time to drop by and check on the kid. The loss of Jason hit the hero community hard, so Slade can only imagine what it must be doing to his pretty bird.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: First Time with a Merc. [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841521
Comments: 4
Kudos: 125





	Come Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't really focused on the relationship between Dick and Slade, it just kind of shows Dick's morally gray area a bit better and might explain why he's attracted to Slade

It's been a while since he's heard from Dick, and he's starting to get a bit uneasy. Not that he would say that, but, you know, he felt it. Luckily it's dark enough out that he doesn't attract much attention to himself as he makes his way to the younger man's apartment. When he arrives the lights are off, which is odd because Dick usually leaves them on even when he's out so people looking in think that someone's home. Makes people think twice before trying anything funny, apparently. The door is unlocked which is not a good sign, and the stench of alcohol is overbearing for his heightened senses when he swings it open. He pulls out one of his pistols and slips inside. It's quiet. No, not quiet, silent. There's no one here that he can see, but he is not going to go through each individual room. He holsters the gun and flips on the lights, almost shitting himself when there's an angry groan that comes from the corner of the room.

"What the fuck?" Slade's stomach drops when he sees his baby bird curled up on the floor. Wait, no, not _his_. Dick isn't _his_.

"Dick…"

Nothing.

He slowly walks over to the younger man, kneeling down next to him and gently resting a hand on Dick's chest.

"Dick, you need to get up. You can't lay here like this."

Still nothing. He gets a bit closer and sees that the boy is out cold. That doesn't come as much of a surprise, if the two empty bottles of whiskey and trash full of beer cans is anything to go off of. Dick looks terrible, and he's not sure if he's ever seen the kid this fucked up before. He _never_ drinks in excess, and he's adamantly against hard drugs-- and marijuana can't do this to somebody. But here he is, absolutely plastered. Slade knows what happened to cause this kind of behavior from the Golden Boy, and he knows that Dick is no doubt blaming himself for not looking out for the second Robin. This may be the second toughest thing the kid's been through, right behind the loss of his parents. Or Kid Flash. He wasn't sure if Dick would've ever been able to come back from the loss of his boyfriend. Or best friend? They were best friends, they weren't dating. Whatever, it doesn't matter right now. Either way, he's already lost so much and he's barely twenty years old. Slade's ripped from his thoughts when he hears a gurgle, and he scrambles to roll Dick onto his stomach before the boy chokes on the vomit that's bubbling up from his mouth.

"God, what the hell."

A wave of relief washes over the mercenary as the kid jolts awake and coughs up the rest of whatever his body decided it didn't want anymore. There's nothing else that he can do besides hold Dick up as his stomach purges itself, and eventually his retching stops. With a groan, Dick reaches for the arms that are around his waist, registering that there's another person in the room with him. He looks up at Slade and the mercenary's blood goes cold. He looks so empty; it's as if Dick is staring straight through him.

"Dick, what have you _done_ to yourself?"

The kid seems to be able to hear alright, because he scoffs at Slade before having to turn away as he starts dry heaving. Slade shakes his head, but runs his hand soothingly across Dick's back when the heaving turns into gut-wrenching sobs.

"He's dead, Slade," Dick coughs. "Jason's dead."

"I know, pretty bird." Slade helps the kid to his feet and walks him over to the couch, but suddenly he's being pushed away as Dick stumbles back.

"It's not fucking _fair!_ He's-- _was_ \-- just thirteen. _Thirteen_ , Slade!"

"Sit down."

He stops, fire blazing in his eyes as he turns on Slade. "Sit down? _Sit down?!"_ Dick snarls "Like hell I will! I'm going to kill him, _I'm going to fucking kill him--"_

Slade grabs the smaller man and shoves him onto the couch. He's not going to put up with this. Not right now, and definitely not like this.

"You're not fit to kill jack _shit_ right now, Richard. Now sit down, take a deep fucking breath, and sober the fuck up."

"Well I--"

A sharp glare from the mercenary makes him rethink what he was going to say, so he scoots back into the cushions and curls up into a ball.

"...I hate this. I hate this so much. I should've stopped--"

"Don't you dare say it. This is not your fault, sweetheart," Slade murmurs as he kisses Dick on the forehead. "Now I'm going to make you a slice of toast, and you're gonna fucking eat it because I doubt you want to throw up any more of that shit."

Slade's right, but Dick doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want Slade to be here. He wants the man _gone_. So when Slade comes back with plain toast and a glass of orange juice, Dick refuses to take it.

"Dick, take the fucking toast."

"No."

It's not like he's _trying_ to be a brat right now, he just doesn't feel like seeing anyone and he doesn't want to be lectured on something as simple as taking care of himself even though he knows he desperately needs it. He turns away when Slade sits down next to him and smacks the man's arm away when he tries to wrap it around Dick.

"I don't want you here. Leave." Dick's voice cracks, and he folds back into himself as he begins to cry again.

"You know I'm not gonna do that. You've really got a way with being a stubborn bitch, but now is not the time for you to be alone. Hell, you could've died if I didn't find you when I did!" he grabs Dick by the chin, forcing him to turn his head back as he points angrily to the plate on the coffee table. "So, like I said. You're going to eat that fucking piece of toast and quit the booze, because that is no way to deal with the situation at hand."

Like _he's_ one to talk. Whiskey is probably his best friend when it comes to avoiding difficult subjects, but he'll be damned if he lets Dick do the same. Too bad there's only so much he can really do for the kid.

"I'm not a fucking child anymore, _Wilson_ , now get the fuck out!"

He raises an eyebrow. Dick can't get him to leave even if he holds a gun to the man's head. So instead he leans back, making himself comfortable all while keeping eye contact with Dick. Silence. Dick shifts, turning away again to look at the floor.

"You can stop any time now. This is getting weird."

Slade raises the other eyebrow.

"Okay fine! Just stop fucking looking at me like that!"

He ends his glaring when Dick snatches the toast off the plate. The kid's only able to get through half of it before feeling nauseous again, but he's not sure if it's actually because of his stomach or if it's because of the guilt that's buried itself deep within his chest.

"...I don't want it. The rest of it."

"That's fine, Dick."

He watches as Slade gets up and leaves the sitting area, only coming back when he finds a bottle of water that was buried somewhere in Dick's fridge. Huh, this seems familiar… Oh. Jason. Back at the manor. Dick had been in a tough place, and Jason had brought him a bottle of water because he was worried about him. Happened right after Dick had chewed Bruce's ear off for not letting Jason be a kid. He wraps his arms around himself as he begins to shiver uncontrollably. But why? He's not cold. If anything, he's boiling hot right now. Fuck, it feels like his head is being crushed by a tire on a goddamn semi-truck.

Slade's shoulders sag. It's not usual for Dick to be so… So… Vulnerable? No. Small? No. _Broken_. He drags the younger man down so his side rests against Slade's front.

"Just breathe. Count with me, baby. Even if it's just in your head."

After a while of counting in a hushed voice and rocking softly back and forth, Dick begins to relax.

"There, there you go, just close your eyes now."

Barely a minute passes before Dick is sound asleep in the mercenary's arms. He must've been exhausted, and Slade curses himself for not checking on the vigilante sooner. But, was it really his place to? He doesn't know where he falls on Dick's list of _People Close Enough to Cry in Front of_ , and he's definitely not family. Oh, that's right, shouldn't the kid's fucking family be keeping an eye on him?! Where they hell are they?! As much as he's happy to help Dick, it's not his fucking job. Slade's head snaps up when the door to the boy's apartment opens and speak of the devil, Bruce Wayne walls in. He freezes when he spots Deathstroke holding his first and now only son, face morphing from confused to angry and then to carefully controlled indifference. What a lovely picture for a father.

"Wilson."

"Wayne." Slade brings an index finger to his mouth, then slowly points to the sleeping figure in his lap. "Be quiet."

He gives the mercenary a chilling look, but slips inside the apartment without a sound. Slade's eye never wavers from the man as he walks across the room to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair to sit in. Time for uncomfortable silence.

"Why are _you_ here."

Or not.

"I'm here to check on _your_ fuckin' kid," Slade whispers harshly. "Who would be with his _brother_ right now if I hadn't gotten here in time."

There's a slight twitch underneath Bruce's left eye, and Slade counts that as a win. A win for _what_ , he doesn't know, but he's happy about it. He knows that his comment hurt the other man, and even if it's a shitty thing to do he begins to think of other ways to hurt him. Side effect of being an asshole, apparently.

"And how would someone like you know that, Wilson?"

Alright, double standards are kicking in. He's not gonna sit here and be talked down to by this piece of shit who can't even look after his own… He's not going to finish that thought.

"Because he was on the floor, laying on his _back_ after drinking himself into fucking oblivion! Christ, he isn't even _old_ enough to buy alcohol and he goes and does this crap! And guess what? He fucking threw up! While asleep! Would've suffocated on fuckin' regurgitated whiskey and beer if--"

"Wow, listen to you two. You the fucking morality police now?" Dick grumbles, and both of the older men's attention snaps back to the boy who's slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position. "As if either of you are saints. Just stop. I've got a headache."

"Dick." Bruce stands up, walking over to the couch as if either of the men sitting there wouldn't hesitate to snap him in two.

"What."

"I'm… What happened was an accident. If I could change it, I would. The Jok--"

"Shut up! Shut! Up! Don't you dare finish that sentence, Bruce! I told you… I _told you_ … And you can't even say you're _sorry_. Jason is-- was-- thirteen, Bruce!" Dick stands up to face his former mentor. "He was… He was… Fuck, I can't believe you. He was too young for that mission and you knew that! It doesn't matter if his mom ran the refugee camp, you do not bring a thirteen year old to a warzone on purpose and _**you do not leave him there alone!**_ "

The mercenary bites the inside of his cheek. This is something he probably doesn't need to be witness to, but it's a bit late to just hop out the window now so instead, he sits there as still as possible as he watches the other two men argue. He's got to admit, he's proud of Dick for standing up to Bruce. It's never easy to do something like that, but it definitely makes it a lot more fulfilling when you don't take the bullshit he tries to feed you. But, Jason was a good kid. Even though Slade never properly met the boy, he had taken a liking to him when Dick came to his home one day after training and ranted about how Jason called him a _very_ inappropriate name to catch Dick off guard so he could body slam his older brother. Or whatever they were to each other. Slade isn't entirely sure on that.

_Smack!_

Aw, fuck. Did Dick just fucking backhand that rich son of a bitch? Alright, time to step in. He grabs the youngest man and puts him in a headlock as he kicks Bruce back onto the floor. Slade winces as a set of teeth dig into his arm, but he keeps the hold.

"Okay, enough! Have you each made your point?"

Dick fights against him, scratching and twisting but unable to free himself so he can go after Bruce.

"Richard." Slade tightens his hold, and after a moment Dick calms down, seeming to realize that beating up his "dad" isn't going to fix anything. By then Bruce has gotten up, dusting off his fancy suit and smoothing his hair back into place.

"I… Deserved that."

That catches both of them by surprise. Slade releases the kid, and without saying a word Dick walks over to Bruce and hugs him. Okay, definitely time to get out of here. He slips into Dick's room and closes the door, giving the two heroes their space.

Once Slade is gone, Dick steps back from the hug and looks up at his former mentor. There's no love in his eyes, and Bruce finds himself hoping that this will be a temporary change.

"Just, promise me one thing."

Bruce gives him a small nod.

"If I end up killing that crazy clown, you don't give me a fucking lecture about moral integrity and being a 'good person'. If I kill him, I'll do my time in Blackgate with fucking _pleasure_."

He frowns. This is… Not who he raised, not who he trained. Dick isn't the happy-go-lucky child he once was, and Bruce wonders where he went irreversibly wrong. But, was he ever _truly_ that kind of child? Or is his true personality finally showing itself under the stressful circumstances? He doesn't want to lose both of his sons, but if this continues he thinks that will be a very likely possibility.

"You know I can't do that."

Dick snarls, jabbing a finger into Bruce's chest. "Then promise me _this_ : stay the fuck out of my way."


End file.
